A Fool for Christmas
(Picks up where Light the Tree left off)
Nolo prayed, “O Lord, listen to our prayers
and enlighten the darkness of our minds…”
More he said, things ’bout visits and affairs
of grace, the rest washed o’er Sarn and couldn’t find
a home, so its meaning got lost somewhere
between man, prayer and ignorant darkness.
Nolo’s wife added a brilliant rose stone
to the advent wreath, but e’en that brightness
couldn’t enlighten a darkness all his own.
So Sarn stood there, as he’d done two Sundays prior,
wondering what wreath, tree and waiting time
betokened, what would Christmas day require?
Some understanding would surely come, time
couldn’t keep him from that, if it had meaning.
What if this preparing was all seeming?
~ ~ ~
Sarn wondered that as he sat at table,
his son on his lap eating from his plate.
For the boy’s sake, he didn’t want a fable,
he wanted something special from that date.
Pow’r made real what wishes asked to receive,
and so his magic that night attracted
light to brighten that darkness he perceived.
Three fairies peaked ‘tween cups and enacted
their plan; they wove Christmas cheer into song
and song into dreams that had Sarn nodding
off in his seat, his magic quelled by song
that carried him, and the son whose prodding
couldn’t waken him, through reality’s seam
where spread a winter wonderland in dream.
~ ~ ~
“Papa, where are we?” Ran asked, looking quite
out of place, to which Sarn could only shrug.
Red and white striped canes lined a snow path right
to a gingerbread door, where a man, mug
in hand, steam curling about his beard, laughed.
His belly jiggled and stretched his red pants.
With a ho ho, he showed them his toy craft,
a workshop run by elves in polka dot pants.
Such wondrous things they saw in that north pole,
and Sarn started to wonder if he’d found
what he’d sought all along, Christmas’ sole
meaning, the giving of gifts, which were bound
for the nice not the naughty in this ice
realm, where all made nice with sugar and spice.
~ ~ ~
O’er cookies and milk Santa’s mood turned black,
“I’m a character in Christmas’ play,
for it’s true meaning, you have to go way back,
before your continent was one, to a day
when a star proclaimed a savior’s birth, that’s
where Christmas began and that’s still its heart.”
Santa fell silent, no more would he chat.
Sarn had to find his own way to the heart
of Christmas, maybe he’d follow a star
to that one event, he thought as the dream
ended with a shoulder shake and a start.
“Go to bed,” Nolo said; to Sarn that seamed
good, so he carried his son to his room.
The fairies hurried; the dream, to resume.
~ ~ ~
The story continues in Fairies Interrupted.
Follow Sarn’s Advent Journey
~ ~ ~
Inspired by the third Sunday in Advent. Prayers summarized (because Nolo’s into brevity) from The History of the Advent Wreath. It also works perfectly for: Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie’s Writing Prompt #137: The Fool, which is cool because I wrote this before I saw the prompt.🙂